A Reason
by miss-maiaa
Summary: For years after her mother's death, Guinevere kept her voice hidden away, a secret. But she has finally found another reason to sing.


Guinevere had a wonderful voice.

It was soft and sweet, and very soulful. When she sang, it was enchanting in a way that when she did so everything else was forgotten and all you could comprehend were the angelic melodies passing through her lips. It was like she was an ethereal being, one who had the power to control those near her with just the sound of her voice. It was magical; a word that had been disapproved of for so long, but anyone would dare to use it just to describe how Guinevere sang.

When her mother was sick, Guinevere sang to her every night before she drifted off to sleep. There were so many songs to choose from – church hymns and gospels, dramatic ballads, gentle lullabies. Her mother picked a song and Guinevere sang it perfectly, flawlessly, expressing herself and how she was feeling through the music. It was calming to hear her sing, and it soothed the pain that her mother was going through when she did so. Knowing it helped ease her mother's burdens throughout her agonizing journey was all it took to keep Guinevere singing.

After her mother passed away, Guinevere couldn't bring herself to sing.

It didn't feel the same. She would not be singing for someone she loved; she would just be singing. She felt as if there would be no point, no purpose. She had only done it to keep her mother happy, and now that she was gone, she didn't have anyone or anything to sing for. No one needed her to sing, and that was the sole thing that had kept her doing so.

Later on in life, Arthur and Guinevere's relationship began to blossom, starting with stolen glances and, before the final round of the jousting tournament, a tender kiss. They began to fall and love and started to care for each other more deeply than they had before. However, they had to keep their relationship hidden from Uther, as well as the rest of Camelot, for showing their feelings would result in punishment for both Guinevere and Arthur, much to their disappointment. They rarely saw each other alone for the fear someone would accidentally come across them, but when they just so happened to see each other in the castle they did stop to say hello – keeping it as casual and normal as they could.

After the Great Dragon's defeat, Arthur had a wound on his shoulder that was not healing well – a gash made with the sharpened claws of the beast. Gaius's remedies were taking care of infections, but slowly, and it looked especially painful – no one could imagine the suffering Arthur must have been going through. Uther was too busy sending out search parties for Morgana to spend time and watch over his son; Gaius had to deal with his other patients, although he made sure to check up on Arthur once every day; and looking after the prince all day when he was even more grumpy with Merlin than usual took a toll on the young boy. Guinevere offered to take a shift whenever she had spare time, and after two days of watching over Arthur, he was so fed up and exhausted he accepted Guinevere's help.

Arthur was sleeping when she arrived, so she meandered about the room, inspecting his armor and studying the condition of her sword. Her father, Tom, had been one of the most, if not the most, popular blacksmiths in all of Camelot, so she had grown up around equipment her whole life. It made her job in the castle easier; if someone, be it a knight or a guard, was having trouble she would quickly help them solve it, and she also gave Merlin tips, too; on how to properly shine and clean chainmail. The blade seemed to be in perfect condition, although it was obviously worn out and looked old. Perhaps she would suggest getting a new one to him when he awoke…

A groan sounded from the other side of the room, followed by incoherent mumblings and slurred words. She hurried over to Arthur's bedside, only to find him still asleep. His forehead was dripping with sweat and his hands were shaking, and it was undoubtedly the pain causing him anguish and distress, even in an unconscious state. Guinevere frowned and gently placed her hand on top of his. Somehow, in some way, he must have sensed it was her, for his shaking ceased slightly and his mumbling became ever so slightly louder – his words were actual words and she could just barely make them out.

"Gwen… ivere…" Arthur slurred.

She smiled, her eyebrows knitting together in worry for him and the pain he was going through. "I'm here, Arthur."

"Make it… stop, Gwen," he muttered. "Please…"

Her smile faded. It hurt to see him in so much pain when she couldn't do anything to help – they were going to have to wait until the medicine did its work for him to be better again. She wished she could do something… She felt so absolutely helpless, and even though she knew he had the sense to know she could not do anything, she felt guilty. She entwined his fingers with her own, placing their clasped hands underneath her chin. "I'm sorry, Arthur," she said softly. "I cannot help you."

His mumbling trailed off into nothingness again and she could no longer figure out what he was saying. Her thumb rubbed his gently, softly, letting him know even in his sleeping state that she was there and she was not going to leave. At least she could do that for him.

Seeing him in all of his pain hurt her in a way she had only been hurt before – when her parents had died; when they were so lonely and so lost and didn't know how things were going to end up, and then they were dead. Arthur was not going to die, but Guinevere's chest ached the same way it had before, when she was witnessing someone she loved being tortured and being unable to help, unable to do anything except be there. Except with her mother, she had been able to help. She had been able to sing for her, and that made her mother's suffering more bearable, easier to live with.

She did not know if it would change his condition at all, but it was worth trying. If it did nothing, at least she would feel better and less guilty. Her lips parted slightly, and she tried to make the words come out, for noise to come from her throat, but she was hesitant. She hadn't sung for anyone in a long time. Would it be good? Would it even help it all?

And then the words streamed from her mouth, slow and smooth like a calm river, but still flowing. She began with her favorite church hymnal, soft and gentle. It reminded her of her childhood – going to church with her parents when her mother was well and bringing the sermon back home to her once she got sick. She could picture her and Elyan fussing about while Tom picked out clothes and their mother fixed their hair and their relatives arrived at the house to walk to mass with them. She could picture the stain glass windows, shining yellow and orange and blue and purple rays down on the villagers in the pews. She could picture a smile widening on her face as she stood side-by-side with the people she loved, the important people.

Next was her most loved tavern tune. It was quiet like the other one, but faster, although she slowed it down to keep him calm as opposed to riling him up. She could remember holding her father's hand as they sat and watched the performances, women and men alike with mugs of ale in their hands, everyone clapping their hands and tapping their feet to the beat. She remembered the closeness of all the townspeople, but not minding because everyone was happy and joyful and having a good time. She remember trudging home in the darkness but not in the loneliness, for the street was flooded with people leaving the same time as she was, and she remember the conversations she had with strangers passing by, on their way home. She remembered being so tired she fell asleep the second she got through the door, with the songs still running through her mind.

There was only one other song she could think of. Her mother wrote it, when the pain was so great she could barely feel her body and she felt like she was on the brink of death. She croaked out the rhymes while Guinevere scrawled them on a piece of parchment, doing it as fast as she could because she didn't know when her mother would lose consciousness again. It was solemn, tranquil. About wonderment and joy and finding happiness again when you lost it before. For her mother, the song was about being happy when Gwen sang to her. And in a way, it matched Guinevere's situation perfectly – after her parents' deaths, she didn't think she would be happy or have anyone to be happy with, but now she had Arthur and Merlin and she was happier than she had been in a long time.

Her voice cut off at the end of the song and she realized that she had started tearing up. She placed his hand on the edge of the bed and pulled her own away, looking from his sleeping body to the wall on the other side so she didn't tear up further. As she was wiping her tears away, however, a hand – Arthur's hand – reached out to grab hers. It was messy, his fingers grabbing at Guinevere's, clumsily mingling with them, and pulling them closer to him, to his chest, where he placed their hands on top of his heart. He seemed to have awakened while she was singing, but she hadn't noticed.

"Guinevere," he chuckled, "why… are you crying?" He sounded drunk, and worn out from all of the pain he was going through, but better than he had before.

"No reason," Guinevere replied, looking down at him.

"You are a… wonderful singer," he coughed. "I feel better already." A smile spread across his lips.

Guinevere smiled in return. "Thank you, Arthur," she said. "I'm glad. It was for you, after all."

His cheeks dusted rosy red. "Why?" he asked.

"Because I care about you," she responded.

"I care… about you too, Guinevere," he mumbled, his eyes closing softly.

Guinevere finally found another reason to sing.

A/N: not my best work, but i just wanted to throw something up. its a headcanon of mine that gwen can sing, obviously, or this wouldnt exist, and i wanted to write something about it. again, not my best, but i like the idea :)


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